


fib

by indemnis



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Partner Betrayal, Post-Betrayal, broken phan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-23 23:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4895638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indemnis/pseuds/indemnis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan is gone and Phil is left to pick up the pieces. They meet again and things are different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fib

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: broken!phan, partner betrayal, slight alcohol abuse

They say time heals all wounds, all emotions washed, all pain diluted, all scars faded off if you don’t look hard enough.

But there is hardly much to feel about time when he isn’t operational anymore, a gaping rift drawing wider and wider and it is only emptiness filling up the vacancy. It’s difficult to remember what had gone wrong.

What _had_ gone wrong? There was a fight, Phil remembers, just vaguely. There was a lot of screaming, Dan was flinging things off the table and Phil had his face buried in his hands. Yelling. Hollering.

_What the fuck is your problem!_

Phil flinches; maybe he remembers more than he gives himself credit, but the memory is neither welcoming nor entertaining. Six years of everything—dealing with each other’s bullshit, curling in each other’s arms in winter, dumping the laundry duty to the other person, never willingly doing the dishes, listening to the other person rant on for twenty minutes before using a kiss as a futile consolation.

Maybe it is habit, the way they ended up containing themselves into spaces that the other person wasn’t—Dan filled up the vacancy that Phil wasn’t, the entire space of the universe brought together to form a single entity, and Dan was half of it.

Maybe it’s why Phil can barely function with half of himself loitering around their—now his—apartment. He doesn’t know what there is to feel. Acceptance is a surreal notion. What was there to accept? That Dan is no longer coming back? That Phil would have to go on with life even without his other half, the only one he found important in the past six years, the one closer than family, closer than his own life?

He doesn’t even remember what his life was like before Dan had entered it.

The numbness paralyses Phil at the most inconvenient times, more often when their friends ask about them and he shakes his head, indulging himself in a diplomatic smile.

*****

Dan has left. He had packed up all of his belongings in a moment’s fury, a pique that Phil couldn’t and wouldn’t appease, a flame that caught fire on his volatile personality and exploded.

It doesn’t sink in that Dan’s gone until the next morning, after an arduous night of trying to fall asleep without the familiar weight beside him on the bed. Phil awakes groggily, assuming that Dan’s in his old bedroom that he never sleeps in, save for the times they argue and Dan would waddle his way back, holding his pillow to his chest in anger.

The next morning they will always be alright, when Phil puts bread through the toaster and sees Dan dragging his feet as he walks out the room, eyes swollen and hair in an unbelievable mess. Phil’s heart squeezes tightly at the sight and fuck pride, he doesn’t want to see Dan cry. This is stupid. They’re stupid. They shouldn’t fight. He’s sorry.

And Dan says nothing, stubborn on the lips, soft on Phil, so he lays his head against Phil’s broad chest and breathes. They stay there for a moment and Phil suggests peanut butter on his toast and Dan nods and everything is okay.

Maybe Phil has taken everything for granted. Maybe it’s because of that he feels the prick particularly hard when he pushes open Dan’s bedroom door and everything is more or less smashed and shattered on the ground and Dan’s bed is never done, as usual.

He denies, vehemently, even if all the evidence is laid before his eyes, even if Dan’s wardrobe is completely cleared out, even if his cash stash in the tin box below his bed is gone. Phil hadn’t stopped him from leaving. He cannot remember seeing him storm out of the apartment.

Maybe that’s why he’s probably just out to Tesco to buy some milk.

Yes, that’s exactly it. Phil is sorry. He’ll wait, he won’t bother him when he’s shopping; it’s all going to be okay.

Dan never returns and Phil forgets when he had started to cry.

He cracks open a small bottle of red wine, the kind Dan likes to sip on when he’s having a particularly difficult day. Phil had never been a fan of alcohol. It did things to people, made them aggressive and helpless and there was just no upside to it.

It is terrifying, letting go of all control of any living situation, being vulnerable to external forces and never having a choice.

Phil takes a gulp, winces at the bitter taste wrapping around his tongue, invading his sense, numbing his right from wrong, blurring the lines between reality and illusion. In this moment, he can keep on with his denial and pretend that Dan is still here after all.

Phil lets go of his inhibitions, lets the chandelier sway in his vision, lets the room spiral around him like he were on a merry-go-round. He pulls down all his fences, but who was he to face?

Phil has been so used to Dan being his first line of defence; the younger man would always jump to his rescue, ignoring self-embarrassment just to give Phil the right he thinks he deserves.

Now that all of his fences are gone and his defences are ruined, Phil is left with himself.

*****

_This is all his fucking fault._

Today Phil ruins his cereal by pouring coffee instead of milk into his bowl again. He is no longer a working human, like a robot discharged, like a vehicle with no fuel, and it is all Dan Howell’s fault.

They haven’t shared any words ever since Phil broke apart in his empty bedroom, all alone, suddenly re-experiencing what it’s like to weep and not have a shoulder to lean on.

It is habit, the way they’ve fallen in a routine, the way they’ve grown so comfortable with each other that the slightest thing out of place looks like a canyon neither of them are prepared to leap over.

Phil always assumes Dan is always going to be there and Dan always assumes Phil will have unlimited patience for his nonsense.

He is frustrated. Maybe fucking furious might be a better description. He slams the milk carton onto the kitchen counter and it bursts, milk seeping from the cracked seams and Phil ignores the fact that it’s dripping onto the kitchen floor.

He is so angry he would pick up the phone and yell at him, hurl obscenities he would never ever say in the right mind, but he doesn’t want to lose. It is a battle, and the first person to budge loses.

Phil doesn’t want to concede defeat. He fails to see the density of the situation—the fact that Dan has run off without as much as a single word for three whole days and has never surfaced on any of his social media network accounts or left an apology message in Phil’s voicemail.

Yet it is still an argument at the end of the day, and Phil is not about to wave the white flag, not going to say I’m sorry first, just like he always has, because he’s had it up to here with Daniel James Howell’s utter bullshit and he’s so fucking annoyed.

“Good riddance,” he mutters to himself in his more delirious moments as he jabs at the controller of his Xbox, the fact that it was a Halo disc playing automatically as he turned it on made him want to stab someone.

Everything is a nuisance. He can’t stand his own breathing, his own living, his own trembling of the fingers, because they all remind him that it’s Dan’s fault and that the little shit isn’t here to own up and be sorry about his actions.

He throws the controller onto the ground when he’s trashed completely in the game and there is angry slamming of the kitchen cupboards, the milk is still spilt and Phil doesn’t want to clean it up and he slips over the puddle and skids.

God, he’s so angry about everything and everyone and maybe mostly himself for not making the effort to pull Dan back when he had the chance, so when he falls flat on his bum in a splash of milk, Phil cries again.

He’s so upset, he’s so tired—why the fuck is Dan not here to hug him and say nice things anymore?

That night, he pours himself a glass of cognac and fumes in his sleep, willing the anger to fade because no one deserves to be blamed but himself.

*****

“Dan?” he calls the Howell residence because Dan hasn’t been picking up his past twenty calls, all leading straight to voicemail.

“Oh, hey, Phil.” His younger brother is the one that picks up the phone, a soft beeping in his background. On his Gameboy, again.

“Hey. Can I—Is—Where—Do you—Is Dan there?” For all the eloquence Phil has managed to master over his years, he realises he doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t know how to use these same words to piece back what he’s lost, even out the creases and bring Dan back.

“Oh. He came back, a few days ago, but he packed out his stuff and left again.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No. But he looked like shit when he came back. Carrying all his luggage and stuff and I asked him what was wrong—Mum and Dad asked, too—but he wouldn’t answer. He just hid in his room.”

“Was it… bad?”

“It wasn’t as bad as a while ago, when he—you know.”

“Yeah.”

“But it was pretty horrible. He didn’t bother with his curls, didn’t doll up, didn’t do anything other than stay in his room.”

“Didn’t say much?”

“Nah. Whenever he came out for food we would just keep quiet, because if we asked any more he would get pissed and go back in. What’s wrong, Phil?”

“I messed up. I’m not proud of it, but I don’t really know what else there is to do.”

“He’s not picking up his phone?”

“No.”

“I’ll try calling. Maybe he just doesn’t want to pick it up because it’s y—oh, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re right. Give him a call. I want to at least know he’s safe and not dead in a train station somewhere.”

“Okay. I’ll ring him and keep you noted.”

“Thanks Ad.”

“Hey, no problem. I can tell you’re worried. Just give him some time. He needs to get over himself first.”

“Maybe I’m the one that needs to get over himself,” Phil replies, a sort of short exasperated sigh leaving him as he stops himself from elaborating. Dan’s family doesn’t need all this—they must be worried enough as it is.

“Anyway, call him for me. Text me about any updates at all. Tell him I called and I want to speak to him.”

“Okay. Bye, Phil.”

“Bye, Ad.”

Phil hangs up. Negotiation and parley, asking for someone to keep their end of their agreement. What is it that he hopes to achieve by talking to Dan? Maybe the younger man will come back quietly and everything will storm over?

Phil wishes things were so easy, like a romantic novel about two soulmates that cannot live without one another and despite all their differences, they would go around and come full circle to where they belong and live together happily forever after.

It is most unfortunate that real life isn’t such a breeze and Phil cannot help it if Dan refuses to come back. The vacancy he leaves open for Dan to return to widens and spreads and Phil is about to be consumed alive into the vacuum, sucked into nothingness.

He can only hope, maybe he will return. It may be a futile dream, but he can hope.

That night he downs a glass of whiskey and remembers that you can only bargain when you have chips on your hand and if your stakes are stacked high enough. Now Phil has nothing and he gambles with nothing but his own flesh and blood.

*****

It has been almost three weeks since Dan has left. Phil sees no meaning in refusing to believe that he’s gone for good. Dan’s brother had replied to say Dan picked up his phone and he’s gone to stay with a friend for a while now. When confronted with Phil’s message, Dan had sighed.

It took everything in him to curb the urge to say “have him call me; I’ll pick up right now”. He doesn’t want to have to deal with it. Giving Phil the right to speak gives him all the authority to pick them back up again and they’ll go back to pretending like nothing is wrong.

Things were very easily explained. Phil had knocked himself over from a drink and slept with someone else. The part Dan cannot explain is why Phil had done it. He knew he hated alcohol intoxication, hated losing the ability to control how things should go. He thought he knew Phil in that way, the kind that had his personality mapped out on the back of his hand.

He had to hear it from someone else’s lips; did Phil genuinely think he could cover things up? Did he think Dan was an idiot?

They screamed, they shouted. Phil said he was sorry, that he didn’t know what was going on, that he had too much to drink and he promises it won’t happen again. Dan doesn’t know how to believe him or how to sleep beside him on the same bed and pretend Phil is still _his_ Phil.

Dan had been spiteful, hurtful remarks that he normally wouldn’t have worded into sentences, but in that moment he thought he earned the right to be rude, mean and vile, undoubtedly hurting Phil so much he had refused to come after him as he ran out of the apartment.

What now?

He isn’t ready to see Phil, he thinks as he hides in his friend’s apartment, a small room squeezed away at the corner of the corridor, and hates himself for everything that he is.

What is there to say? Phil had fucked up, Dan had been upset, now everything is broken and who’s going to pick them back up?

Dan misses Phil, all too much, but he doesn’t know if he’ll see him the same way after everything he’s put him through. Maybe that’s just how things should be, maybe some mistakes just don’t deserve a second chance.

Phil will live in his guilt forever and Dan will live knowing that Phil had done something horrible. He wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes, wouldn’t be able to believe every word he says, trust his lips to be only his when they kiss.

Perhaps this is how they’re meant to end, a moment of folly and an obstinate partner to match.

*****

“Do you mind if I get that cushion as well?”

“No, go ahead.”

“Thanks. Are you sure I’m not taking everything?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Okay.”

There is silence as Dan stuffs the soft plush into a box alongside all the other things that are spilling out. Things like the couch Dan absolutely love but would rather not bring along.

He could have been suave, walked out without turning back, without asking for anything. It isn’t that can’t afford any of these or that they had particular sentimental value. Maybe he just really wanted to see Phil again and know how he’s doing.

“How’s everything?” Phil asks first, obviously unnerved by Dan’s presence in the flat, the younger man surprised that Phil hadn’t moved out the first chance he had.

“Oh. It’s great.”

Of course Phil knows. He keeps tabs on him, check his Twitter a few times a day, keeps his Facebook posts on notification, does everything in his way to ascertain his level of ‘fine’ after the split up.

“How about you?” Dan asks, pretending that he’s doing it absentmindedly, picking up another cushion he hadn’t intended to bring along.

Phil laughs, a small breathy one that betrays his “oh, I’m okay, thanks”. Phil has never been wonderful at lying.

Dan can smell aftershave on him, his familiar spritz of cologne and maybe a trace of wine. He frowns; Phil hates alcohol, as far as he knows. He disposes the idea the minute it enters his mind.

Who is he to say he knows this same person anymore?

Dan presses his lips together, refusing to look into Phil’s eyes, willing himself to be done as soon as possible so he can escape the awkwardness. It’s bizarre that he and Phil have resulted in this—the one person he was able to let loose and be comfortable with has become the person he cannot hold a proper conversation with.

“Dan, I—”

Dan is immensely afraid of the things he’s going to say. He doesn’t want them to get back together. He doesn’t want to complete them only to crack it apart later.

He interrupts. “Are you going to stay here? Like, for good, not gonna move out?”

Phil pauses, losing his train of thought and realises that Dan is staring at his chin, the way he had taught him to do when he can’t hold proper eye contact in his inexplicably awkward moments. Phil breathes, the kind that makes his lungs press tightly against his rib cage and his chest is heavy.

“I don’t know, really. I like it here, but obviously I can’t pay for rent alone.”

Dan nods, pretending like he’s listening, but instead his gaze is intent on an unshaved spot by Phil’s jaw, the sight of it gnawing his insides.

“Um, Phil, you um, missed a spot here when you shaved. Yeah, here, here,” Dan points at the same spot on his own cheek and Phil rubs his thumb against the rough surface.

“Oh. Yeah, must have been blind or something,” Phil replies, a guilty bubble of laughter escaping his lips, but Dan is not buying it. Phil has not been holding up fine ever since he’s left. It’s not difficult to tell.

There is a pathetic attempt at tidying in the lounge, an obvious disarray of worn clothes stuffed in his bursting cupboard in his bedroom, his ‘made’ bed has folded corners and beverage spots on his pillow case.

He doesn’t want to ask again, because Phil will tell him he’s really okay and pull that forced and ugly smile that just makes his heart sink.

“So where you staying now?” Phil asks, afraid of being intrusive, but he’s dying to know and that’s the kind of thing Dan doesn’t publish online.

Dan rubs at the back of his neck. “A friend. He’s been… nice.”

Phil knows what that means. He takes the cue and cowers, almost physically, though Dan can feel his entire being taking a whole step back, and he knows his goal is reached.

“You pack your stuff. I’m just going to… shave off this bit.”

“Okay.”

Dan is sorry. He really shouldn’t have added fuel to the fire, but he doesn’t want to lie to anybody and definitely not Phil. They might be in the past but he’s still precious to him. He owns the right to know.

Phil returns with a clean chin and swollen eyes, but Dan doesn’t comment on it. He just pretends, the way the both of them have been all too used to, humming as he packs his equipment into his large luggage bag.

“Dan, I—I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry.” Phil’s head is hung low and his voice is hoarse and they’re both afraid that Phil’s about to cry.

“It’s okay, Phil,” Dan says softly, “It’s all over, anyway.”

Phil inhales and it hurts to do so. It hurts being in the same space as Dan and not being able to touch him, hear him rant incessantly about pop idols or have him just look into his eyes and grin, the one he does when he references an inside joke.

Why has Dan moved on and he hasn’t? Is it Dan’s fault or his own?

“I don’t—I didn’t want it to be over.”

“Forget it, Phil.”

“I really shouldn’t have—”

“Yes, Phil. Yes, you shouldn’t have slept with someone else, yes, you shouldn’t have ignored me as I walked out of the apartment, but it’s all over now, isn’t it?”

Phil flinches at Dan’s use of words, but he’s hit bullseye with every single one and Phil knows he’s the only one still living in their past.

“There was already enough conflict in our relationship as it was. It would’ve ended, maybe with less drama, but ended, all the same. Move on, Phil. You have a life outside of me.”

Phil almost breaks down, because he doesn’t remember what life is, outside of Dan. He wants to scream this in his face, tell him to help jot his memory, because all he can reminisce is how they stayed in bed, legs tangled and kissing each other awake, forcing the other person to prepare breakfast.

Dan closes his eyes, calming himself down as Phil is going through turmoil, anxiety crippling him as Dan finally wills himself to look straight at him. “Don’t drown your sorrows in alcohol anymore. It was the same thing that sparked this,” Dan gestures to the entire space and Phil gulps, “and it’s horrible for your liver.”

_I don’t know how else to get through the days._

Phil knows it’s a lie. He just refuses to, because it’s so much easier to live in a world where the ceiling and floor are mixed up and he floats and Dan is still there, flung around in his imagination.

“I’ve a car waiting for me downstairs. I guess this is it.”

Dan is hesitant as he sees Phil breaking down in his own head, gaze vacant and fingers wrapped tightly around the doorknob.

He takes another moment to make sure Phil isn’t trembling anymore, and puts his box down. Leaning in just slightly, Dan presses his lips against the spot Phil has just shaved, the stinging but inviting smell of aftershave overtaking his senses.

Phil sucks in a deep breath and holds it, Dan’s lips against his skin makes everything tingle and it’s soft and gentle and it’s familiar. This isn’t it, he doesn’t want this, he’s sorry, _please come back_.

“Take care, Phil. For yourself.” Dan whispers against his cheek, hot breath against cool skin, slightly chapped lips against smooth surface, and Phil starts to cry.

_Please, Dan._

“Thank you.”

_I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> I promise this looked a lot better in my head.  
> Kind of a sentiment after whatever's been going through in my family and maybe some people and/or things don't deserve second chances. Not all stories end up with happy endings and some things done cannot be compensated.  
> (Interesting: That's what my handle 'indemnis' means, which is Latin for the term 'indemnify', which is to compensate for incurred loss, hurt or damage. Unfortunately, not everything can be indemnified.)
> 
> We all move on, some day, despite the hurt and harm and pain, because we all have lives and existences outside of another individual, even if it may seem difficult to see at the point of time.  
> I tried depicting the five stages of Kübler-Ross' Model of Acceptance of Loss/Grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and finally Acceptance.  
> Here's to everyone who's had something to lose: we can only believe that the day of acceptance will come soon, but all pain will fade and it is a consolation to know that we'll be better people than what we were.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
